


Restart And Try Again

by Skyblaze



Category: Tron - All Media Types
Genre: Alan/Tron if you squint, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25430863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyblaze/pseuds/Skyblaze
Summary: Sam has found Rinzler, and is trying to turn him back into Tron, but thirty-year-old code requires an expert touch. Enter Alan Bradley, who ends up unexpectedly attached to his creation.
Relationships: Alan Bradley/Tron
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Restart And Try Again

“I need your help.”  
  


Alan turned to see Sam in the doorway of his office at ENCOM. His godson looked unusually agitated, despite the faux-casual pose he had assumed, leaning against the doorframe, the way his leg jiggled with barely-suppressed nervous energy gave the game away.

“Hello Sam,” Alan greeted with exaggerated formality, “Nice to see you.”

There was the barest twitch of guilt that he was abandoning politeness, but even Alan’s subtle admonishment didn’t deter him, “It’s… Dad’s… uh… project. I need your help with something.” Sam blurted, the words coming all in a rush, making him sound like the awkward teenager Alan remembered with a mixed amount of fondness. The words, however, made Alan raise an eyebrow.

“I was under the impression,” Alan said slowly, “That you and Quorra were handling that.”

“We are… mostly. But there’s one thing that needs your...uh...personal touch.” Sam said, his eyes darted around warily, and Alan understood that this was not something Sam was comfortable discussing in the ENCOM officers, where just anyone could listen in.

After only a moment of hesitation, Alan grabbed his keys of his desk, “Lead on, then. I can’t promise anything, but I can take a look.”

Sam’s answering smile was full of relief.

–

Neither Kevin nor Sam had revealed the full details on Kevin Flynn’s ‘project’. The closed system hidden in the basement of the arcade was still largely a mystery to him, Lora and Roy, but Sam had at least told him about Kevin’s ultimate fate; saving the system, The Grid, by reintegrating himself with his rogue program, CLU. Alan was torn between being impressed at what his old friend had accomplished and wanting to raise him from the dead so he could strangle him for being so reckless.

A prickle of apprehension crawled up Alan’s spine when he saw the digitising laser; so familiar from those early days at ENCOM. It looked so incredibly incongruous sat there in front of a workstation terminal. Alan took a deep breath of the dry, stale basement air and looked at Sam, who shuffled uncomfortably.

“Would you care to explain?” Alan asked carefully.

Sam looked at his shoes for a moment, taking his own deep, fortifying breath, “You gave a copy of your security program to Dad for his project, right?” Sam began.

Alan frowned, “Tron. Yes, I did. What does this have…” Alan’s eyes widened, “Is he still..?” Alan had often found it difficult to reconcile the work he did every day - coding, compiling and upgrading software - with the ideas that Kevin had espoused about programs being like real people, living within the machine, but Tron had always been… different. Special. There was a connection there that Alan had never been able to explain. Thinking Tron was… gone had been unexpectedly and inexplicably painful.

Sam looked uncomfortable again, “Sort of. CLU got to him. He… repurposed him. Turned him into an attack dog, renamed him Rinzler. I don’t know how, but something in him must have… fought back. Towards then end, before the reintegration, Rinzler turned on CLU - tried to attack him.”

Alan frowned, his brows drawing tightly together as apprehension congealed into worry, “But you found him?”

Sam nodded, “Yeah but… his code is a total mess. I’ve tried to help him, but some of his core kernal is… well, its beyond me.”

Alan blinked, “And you think I can help?”

“He’s your program.” Sam said softly.

“Sam, in case you forgot, I wrote it – him – in the eighties. Its been a while.” Alan replied, anxiety rising in his chest, tension making his shoulders ache as he stared at the laser and the darkened terminal.

“You’re his best shot,” Sam insisted, “You’re his user. He’s… well, he’s been asking for you.”

Alan couldn’t help but stare, “Asking for me?”

Sam sighed, “He’s not completely conscious, but whenever I try to work on his code, he pushes me away and says ‘Alan1’ over and over.”

“My old username at ENCOM.” Alan said faintly. He sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose, “All right. You’ve convinced me. I’ll give it a shot. What do I need to do?”

Sam nodded at the seat in front of the terminal – the one with the laser pointed ominously at it, “Sit right there. I’ll handle the rest. Oh, and don’t worry when you get there, I’ll be right behind you.”

For the first time since Sam had arrived at Alan’s office, Sam flashed one of his bright smiles. Alan wasn’t sure if it was meant to be reassuring, but since that same smile was often on the face of both father and son right before some of their more outrageous stunts, Alan decided he was correct to be concerned.

–

Arriving in the Grid was just as disorienting as Alan had feared. He materialised – for lack of a better term – to almost total blackness. The only faint white light in the small, closed-off room was… himself. His shirt glowed with a faint white radiance, while his suit pants and jacket had gone from dark grey to jet black. His face felt… odd. He reached up to touch his glasses, but once his fingers made contact with the frames, there was a spark of white across the lenses and his vision suddenly came alive with a host of information, scrolling across like a military-style heads-up display.

“Huh.” He said.

A column of light coalesced beside him, and in moments Sam had arrived, wearing some of sort of… armoured black suit covered in glowing white circuitry patterns.

“Nice outfit.” Alan commented dryly when Sam had fully materialised.

Sam grinned back, “Nice glasses.”

“I appear to have come equipped with an augmented reality display.” Alan said, “I can’t say I don’t appreciate the upgrade.”

“Advantages of being a User in a computer, I guess.” Sam shrugged.

“Apparently.” Alan’s gaze sharpened as it fixed on Sam, trying to ignore the little pop-ups of information on the heads-up display, which described Sams’s clock speed, code integrity and power level, “Where is he?” Alan asked softly.

“This way.” Sam said, leading Alan out of the darkened room and into the city streets.

The city was something of a revelation for Alan, who was almost mesmerised by the colour, the angles, the beauty of it all, especially with his glasses providing him with helpful information on each point of interest, right down to its code composition, if he so chose. Getting control of the flow of information was a challenge; Alan was a programmer, and the beauty of this place, not just on a physical level, but on the level of pure code, was almost too much to resist. Only the knowledge that someone – that Tron – needed his help, let him keep his focus.

Sam led him through the neon-laced streets, up into a glowing tower. Quorra greeted them at the door, the usually perky ISO oddly subdued. The room Alan was guided into was comfortable, decorated in muted shades of white and pale blue. It almost like a high-end hotel, except with more glowing parts.

A figure lay motionless on the plush-looking bed. Dressed entirely in black, an opaque helmet covering his face, the glowing circuitry lines were strangely truncated, pulsing an ominous dark orange. The most distinctive marking was the set of small squares near his throat, set in a T shape.

“Tron.” Alan breathed. The figure on the bed twitched, and made a rattling moan. It was a ragged, pained sound, like a fan with a worn bearing, or a failing hard drive. Either way, the noise worried him.

“Here.” Sam said, handing him… a disk? It looked like a hollow Frisbee, its edges its edges pulsing the same malevolent, fiery orange as Tron’s circuitry. Alan’s glasses promptly displayed information telling him how to bring up a code overview from the disk. Helpful. He was starting to wish he had something like it in the real world.

He sat down on a sinfully comfortable chair and watched as the code spiralled up from the disk, appearing in a splay of holographic light. He examined it for a few long moments, turning it this way and that, marvelling at the 3-D representation that revealed data structures, variable arrays and other things that Alan usually had to keep track of in his head, all presented clearly but… something wasn’t right. He dug further, finally finding something familiar. He wasn’t usually one to blow his own trumpet about his programming prowess, but the core of the original code he had written looked remarkably elegant next to what appeared to be hastily hacked-in patches with more recent timestamps.

After further investigation, Alan sat back with a scowl, “Who wrote this additional code?”

Sam looked up from where he had sprawled on a sofa, “Uh...why?” he asked.

Alan scowled harder, “Because I’d like to punch them in the mouth.”

“It was probably CLU,” Quorra said, almost making Alan jump. She’d been so still and quiet he’d almost forgotten she was there, “Well, either CLU or Dyson.” She continued, “They’re both… gone now.”

“Hmph.” Was Alan’s only reply. He spent another few moments staring at the butchery that had been made of his creation, trying to fight down anger on Tron’s behalf at what had been done to him. The new blocks of code emphasised obedience, and violence. To have this done to Tron, who was created to be self-sufficient, to protect, not attack, it felt like nothing so much as torture and brainwashing.

“I think I can fix this.” He said finally, “But it’s not going to be quick. I’ll need time, and access to my usual suite of programming tools.” He gestured to the swirling holographic code, “This is lovely, but its not what I’m used to. It’ll be quicker and easier for me to use a normal workstation.”

Sam nodded, “Yeah, I get it. Programming in the Grid is… different.”

A thought occurred to Alan, “Is it even possible to transfer data to this system? I didn’t see any ports, except the I/O and display port, and the operating system is bound to be completely unique.”

Sam nodded again, more slowly this time, and Alan heard Quorra take a sudden, sharp breath, “It… is…”

“I hear a ‘but’ at the end of this sentence.” Alan said.

Sam gave a slightly forced chuckle, “Yeah, okay. It is possible, but you kinda need to use _yourself_ as the data storage medium.”

Alan blinked, “What?”

Sam chuckled, sounding far more natural this time, “It’s okay. I’ll show you when we get back.”

Alan’s gaze went back to the figure lying so still on the bed, seeming almost lifeless if not for the dull pulsing of the circuitry, and the scrolling information on Alan’s heads-up display. “Will he be all right?” he asked.

“Quorra’s staying with him.” Sam replied. Alan caught the look that flickered between Quorra and Sam, suddenly understanding that it wasn't just a case of keeping Tron company; it was making sure that that awful ‘Rinzler’ code-butchery didn’t cause him to hurt himself or anyone else. Quorra was more guard than nurse. The thought made his stomach knot up.

Without thinking, Alan reached over to pat Tron on the arm, “I’ll be back, and I promise I’ll help you.”

Tron made a noise, that odd grinding sound, but softer this time, sounding almost like a purr, and then, a barely audible rasp, “Aaalaan onnneee…”

“I’ll be back.” Alan reassured again, feeling a lump in his throat. He forced himself to let go, ignoring the odd look Sam gave him as he marched out of the room and heading back towards where the laser had dropped them, not really knowing why he felt like crying.

–

Less than a week later, Alan found himself back in the basement beneath Flynn’s Arcade. True to his word, Sam had taught him how to port code to and from the Grid. It was something of an involved process, and needed one of the obscure ‘floptical’ storage systems to interface with Flynn’s ageing, custom-built computer system. It had taken almost as long to find the right storage system as it had to actually rebuild Tron’s code.

Now, he loaded the disk caddy into the semi-hidden drive slot and loaded his own ‘profile’ on the workstation and hit ‘import’. Sam then took over and loaded the laser digitisation program.

“Ready?” Sam asked.

Alan shifted, feeling both impatient and anxious, “Yeah, let’s go.”

The dizzying sensation overtook him and he once again found himself in that darkened room inside the Grid. This time, however, there was significantly more light – still coming from himself. The sensible suit he had worn before was replaced by a long black overcoat, decorated with glowing white circuitry lines. His shirt was still softly glowing white, but he could feel the weight of an ID disk on his back.

“That’s new.” Sam said, frowning, “You okay Alan?”

“Yeah,” Alan smiled, “I think it’s due to the extra data I had to import into my profile so I could help Tron.”

Sam chuckled, “Looks good on you. No fair you get a cooler outfit than mine, though.”

Alan couldn’t help but smirk, “And the cool glasses.”

“Yeah, rub it in why don’t ya?” Sam lightly smacked his godfather on the arm, and once again led Alan through the twisting streets to where Tron lay.

It looked like Tron had barely moved, but when Alan stepped through the door, Tron made that painful-sounding grinding noise, his arms twitching. “How has he been?” Alan asked Quorra.

Quarra shrugged, “About the same. He twitches sometimes, and calls out for you. If anyone else tries to touch him, though, he tries to get away, despite how damaged he is.”

The bluntly spoken assessment chilled Alan, and he took a deep breath, reaching over to the program laying motionless against the plush blue bedcovers, “Tron? It’s me, Alan. I’m here to help you, but I need your ID disk. Is that okay?”

The grinding noise grew louder, and Tron’s body twitched almost violently, “aaaa...aaaa.” Tron rasped, trying again to move. It took Alan a few moments to realise that Tron was trying to roll over, to expose his ID disk at his User’s request. The display of trust made something in Alan’s chest twist.

Reaching down, Alan helped his program to roll onto his side, noting almost absently as he did so that where he touched Tron’s circuits, the orange faded into bright blue, just for a second, before it bled back to orange.

As gently as he could, Alan disengaged Tron’s disk from the port, and reached to his own back to pull off his own disk. Praying silently to whatever gods looked after programmers, he slowly brought the two disks into contact.

Holding his breath, Alan watched as the white light of his disk slowly melted into the orange, and wherever it touched, the light changed, transforming from deep orange into blue. When the process finally completed, Alan felt like he could breathe again, but the knot in his stomach still remained, a reminder that it wasn’t quite over.

Carefully pulling the two disks apart, Alan clicked his own back into place before leaning down and carefully, almost reverentially, placing Tron’s disk back in its port.

The change was immediate. The blue light flowed like water from the disk port, spreading across the circuitry lines. When it reached Tron’s neck, the mask dissolved, revealing a face that looked precisely like Alan himself had thirty years ago. Tron’s eyelids fluttered and he blinked open his eyes, looking unerringly at his User, eyes full of wonder and joy.

“Alan1.” Tron said, his voice almost...worshipful, which was deeply embarrassing, but at least it was at last free of the awful grinding growl.

Alan felt tears in his eyes, “Welcome back, Tron.” he said, reaching out to take his creation’s hand.

Tron frowned, “I… so much has happened.” Sorrow filled the program’s face, “I...I failed. I did terrible things. I’m so sorry, Alan1.”

“Shhh,” Alan soothed, perching next to Tron on the edge of the bed, unable to tear his gaze away from his creation, “It’s all right. You did everything you could. You fought back against CLU. I couldn’t be any prouder of you.”

The awestruck wonder was back in Tron’s face, his fingers curling tightly around Alan’s own, apparently totally unwilling to let go. Alan gently touched the circuitry on Tron’s arm, marvelling at the colour – it wasn’t quite the electric blue of Quorra’s lines, it was paler - closer to ice blue, and Alan wondered at the reason for that difference, if it had any particular significance.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled them both, both Tron and Alan apparently forgetting that Sam and Quorra were in the room. Sam looked somewhat embarrassed, “Uh, so yeah. Me and Quorra have… stuff to take care of. We’re gonna head out, okay?”

Alan rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, feeling his own embarrassment climb up his cheeks, “Uh, sure.”

Tron tugged on his hand, “You’ll stay with me, Alan1?” his face and voice full of hope.

Alan couldn’t help but smile, “Of course, Tron.” he said, and Tron shuffled over on the bed to make room, not once letting go of his User’s hand.

Alan lay down next to his creation, the security program he had coded with his own hands, trying not to melt under said program’s adoring gaze. Without really thinking about it, Alan brought Tron’s hand up to kiss his knuckles, wondering exactly how this had become his life.

Once he turned to see the joy shining in Tron’s face, free of the pain he had suffered, Alan couldn’t bring himself to mind.

End of Line.


End file.
